


Like a Lamb to Slaughter

by reeby10



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Wakes & Funerals, somewhere around OotP or HPB prob I'm playing kinda loose with timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-11 15:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/pseuds/reeby10
Summary: Voldemort has won. With most of the Order of the Phoenix dead, including Dumbledore, Harry returns to Hogwarts along with many of the survivors of the battle. Harry watches the changes Voldemort makes to the wizarding world from afar while keeping busy teaching magic to those who have chosen to stay at Hogwarts. But when Voldemort decides it’s time to fully reopen Hogwarts, things are complicated when Harry realizes he’s beginning to develop feelings for the Dark Lord.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My Tomarry Big Bang 2018 fic! The original inspiration came from [this tumblr post](http://voldiebuns.tumblr.com/post/175573663444/hufflepuffkat-the-modern-typewriter-shh), which turned into this whole big thing bc I loved the idea of Voldemort as the first one to really give Harry the appreciation and encouragement he needed as The Boy Who Lived. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it :D
> 
> Chapters will hopefully be uploaded every day for around the next week.
> 
>  **ETA:** Now with fantastic art by limonium-anemos!! You can see it [here](http://limonium-anemos.tumblr.com/post/178100805263/art-for-the-tomarrybigbang-im-very-happy-to) and [here](http://limonium-anemos.tumblr.com/post/178114947148/shh-its-alright-voldemort-said-quiet-enough) :D

The ground was hard and unyielding under Harry’s knees as he knelt in the middle of the battlefield, his energy almost entirely gone. Around him was chaos, craters and char marks and debris left by deflected spells for metres in every direction. Behind him, far enough away to be almost safe from the damage, stood the remains of the Order of the Phoenix and their allies.

On the other side of the battleground stood Voldemort and his various minions. They looked much less worn than Harry felt, and Voldemort himself looked almost bored by the proceedings. He spun his wand in one long fingered hand, seemingly just waiting to see if Harry would rise from the dirt and continue the fight.

As much as Harry knew that’s what the others behind him were waiting for too, he knew he didn’t have any more fight left in him. He was still alive, for now, but Voldemort had won. This last time, Voldemort had come back stronger than any of them had known he could. And for all the help Dumbledore had tried to give him to help him get through this, Harry knew he had failed.

A hush fell over the area as Voldemort stepped forward, apparently realizing Harry was no longer a threat to him. Harry felt frozen in place as he watched Voldemort stop just a half metre or so away. Voldemort was frowning at him, anger clear in the lines creasing his brow. Was he disappointed that Harry wasn’t more of a match for him after all?

Voldemort reached toward Harry, and on instinct, Harry raised his wand arm. He wasn’t sure he had the reserves for even a simple spell, but it didn’t matter, because with a wave of his hand, Voldemort had him locked in place, unable to move. He tried to open his mouth to say something, anything, but even his lips were paralyzed.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Voldemort said, quiet enough that Harry thought he was the only one who could hear. He cupped Harry’s cheek, skin cool and dry. “You’ve done beautifully and I’m so proud of you.”

If Harry could have moved, his mouth would have opened in shock. The words were something he’d longed to hear from Dumbledore or Remus or any of the other adults in his life who had put so much faith in him. But to hear it from Voldemort of all people… that was unexpected. Harry didn’t think his lifelong enemy was supposed to be the one to praise him.

Voldemort gave him what might have been a smile, like he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. Perhaps he did, he’d always had more power over Harry than anyone would have liked to admit.

“But that’s enough now,” Voldemort continued, a little more force in his voice. Like Harry could even argue. “It was cruel of them to make you fight me — you never could have won. Dumbledore knew that from the beginning and he led you like a lamb to slaughter. It’s not your fault.”

Harry felt like he’d been hit in the gut hearing those words. He wanted so much to dismiss them, but deep in his heart and mind, he knew he couldn’t.

From the beginning of his time in the wizarding world, Dumbledore had been the one Harry had respected most. Harry had sung his praises from the moment they met, after all, and in retrospect that gave Harry a somewhat skewed view of things. He thought Dumbledore was the only one he could truly rely on. But if that was true, why hadn't he tried to put Harry out of harm's way instead of thrusting him into danger at every turn? It was a lot for Harry to consider.

Voldemort smiled, just the smallest hint of an amused turn to his lipless mouth. “Yes, you see now.”

The petrification seemed to be fading bit by bit. Harry hung his head, overwhelmed and exhausted, and felt Voldemort’s hand slip from his face. It left behind a cool streak that tempered the fire of his shame. He was glad he was facing away from the others so they couldn’t see how utterly destroyed he was.

“And now to take care of the true problem,” Voldemort said.

Harry didn't even try to move, just watched out of the corner of his eye as Voldemort strode past him. To face Dumbledore, he supposed. Once he would have put odds on the elderly headmaster to win. Now… Now he just wasn’t sure.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Tom?” Dumbledore asked a few moments later. His voice was steady, but there was a note there that might have been fear. Apparently he’d realized that Harry wouldn’t be fighting anymore. “You know you can’t win.”

“Oh, can’t I?”

There was a loud crashing noise, and tired as he was, Harry forced himself to turn around. If everyone he knew and loved was about to be killed by Voldemort and he wasn’t going to do anything to stop him, he should at least watch. He deserved the guilt of their deaths for as long as Voldemort deigned to keep him alive. Which, he figured, wasn’t going to be long.

Voldemort stood about ten metres out from Dumbledore, the rest of the Order of the Phoenix staggered out a ways behind him. There was a smoking crater just in front of him, which Harry figured was the source of the noise he’d heard. As he watched, Voldemort shot a stream of purple light at Dumbledore, forcing him to jump to the side as it blasted through his magical shield. It seemed almost like Voldemort was playing with him, or perhaps just showing off how strong Voldemort was and how Dumbledore had underestimated his power.

“I am the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard alive,” Voldemort called, loud enough that even the Death Eaters, still in place on the other side of the battlefield, could hear him. “Your delusions of grandeur let you think I could be defeated. By a child, no less! You call yourself a Light wizard, but you forced him to fight a war that wasn’t his. And now you’ve lost.”

Even from a distance, Harry could see the ashen tint of Dumbledore’s face. “I only did what I had to!”

“What you had to,” Voldemort spat in return, taking long strides forward. The Order of the Phoenix stumbled backward as a group, some of them looking like they wanted to bolt. “You had no right to put such a thing on the shoulders of a child. To send young to fight in battle in your place is the height of cowardice. This was your war!”

The words rang out in the otherwise silent battlefield, and Harry could practically feel the shock they produced. Some seemed to be looking askance at one another and at Dumbledore, confusion and even anger evident in their movements. Others looked disgusted as they considered Voldemort’s pronouncement. If his goal had been to cause strife, to break loyalty, to expose Dumbledore to their judgemental thoughts, then he’d certainly done so.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, probably to try to defend himself for all the good it would do, but Voldemort made a cutting noise with his wand, shutting him up. The others backed up, leaving space between themselves and Dumbledore as Voldemort continued forward until he was only a metre away. Harry could see Dumbledore’s arm twitching, like he was trying to fight back against whatever spell Voldemort had him under.

“But this is the end of the war, for you at least,” Voldemort told him. He made another slashing motion, and Dumbledore crumpled to the ground.

Harry’s ears were filled with a rushing noise that blocked out everything else. He could see the commotion among the Order, frantic and confused at Dumbledore’s death, but not a sound reached him. It was like he was in a bubble all his own, nothing but grief and silent rage with him.

He watched numbly as a few people rushed Voldemort, trying to fight him. He also watched as they fell one by one, so easily overpowered and defeated that it was almost pathetic. Some were left injured and unable to fight; most of the important members of the Order weren’t so lucky. McGonagall and Kingsley and Mad Eye and Hestia Jones all killed, and just like that, the Order was so thoroughly shattered, Harry knew that even if the rest survived, it would never recover.

The war was over.


	2. Chapter 2

At a signal from Voldemort, the Death Eaters, who had thus far stayed on the far side of the battlefield and let their Lord do as he would, marched over to the sobbing remains of the Order. They passed by Harry like they didn’t even see him. He wanted to follow them, to go be with his friends as they were surely all executed, but he couldn’t find the will. He could die here in the dirt just as easily as there.

Surprisingly, everyone wasn’t slaughtered immediately. The distance prevented him from hearing much of what was going on since no one was trying to pitch their voice across the wide open space anymore, so he just watched as the Death Eaters rounded everyone up. They were led away from the bodies still lying on the ground and over to a less damaged area a ways away.

They milled around, some clutching each other for comfort, some crying silently. Harry saw Ron and Hermione looking in his direction, hands clasped tightly between them, and he knew he needed to join them. Groaning at the pain in his knees from kneeling on the hard ground so long, he rose and made his way over to them.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said once he made it to them. There were drying tear streaks through the dirt on her face. “I don’t… I…”

Harry shook his head and let her pull him into a hug, Ron wrapping his arms around both of them. He was glad for his friends’ comfort, even though he wasn’t sure he deserved it. He’d let them all down in the end, when it really mattered, hadn’t he?

“Don’t think like that, mate,” Ron muttered into his ear. Harry wondered for a moment if he’d said something aloud, but then he realized Ron just knew him that well.

“I don’t know what else to think now,” Harry admitted, voice muffled in Hermione’s hair. “Or do.”

Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything else, just held him tighter before letting go. Some of the others — mostly his schoolmates, a few older wizards, but none of the adults who had been fighting at the head of the Order — had crowded around them by now and they looked at him like they were looking for answers. Harry was afraid that he didn’t have any, but he was more afraid that it didn’t matter. They were at the mercy of Voldemort and his Death Eaters now.

“Harry?” someone called, and he looked over to see Neville nearby. “What do we do now?”

A murmur rose up in the crowd, many of them repeating the question, some of them quietly giving answers. Harry blocked out as much as of the noise as possible, and wondered what to say. He was tired of being looked upon for answers at times like these, weary of the responsibility and the criticism and the pressure from every corner. There wasn’t anything he could say that would satisfy them all.

But it turned out he didn’t have to right now. A hush spread over them like a wave, breaking over the edge and moving inward as they parted to let Voldemort stride through the space. He stopped a couple of metres from Harry, wand held lax in his hand. It wasn’t a threatening position, but he commanded attention and fear from everyone around him.

“This is the end that has always been coming,” Voldemort said, and Harry just nodded. The others might not know yet that it truly was, but he did. “What will you do now?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do we have a choice?”

“There is always a choice. Sometimes those choices are made for you, as you are aware.” Voldemort seemed to be smirking, just a little, and Harry was reminded of his words about Dumbledore from before. “But this time, you each must make your own. It is a simple one, because my fight has never been with you. Surrender and live, or continue to fight and die.”

Harry didn’t look away from Voldemort, but he could see the way the others shifted uncomfortably at the words. He wasn’t sure what to think of them. Voldemort had been right when he said this wasn’t Harry’s fight to begin with. Was it worth it to continue fighting, knowing he would die?

No, he decided, it was not.

“I surrender,” he told Voldemort, not looking away from his former enemy’s face. Voldemort smirked, apparently satisfied.

The others around him gasped, shocked, but Harry didn’t want to look at them, not even when Hermione frantically whispered his name. He couldn’t be the leader they wanted him to be, and they would have to make their own decisions about this. Their lives and deaths were no longer in his hands.

“I accept your surrender, Harry Potter. You are free to leave.” Harry sagged a little, until then not entirely certain Voldemort would let him go. Voldemort looked around at the rest of them. “And what say each of you now that your savior has chosen life?”

A few raised their hands, murmuring their desire to surrender as well, then a few more and a few more. Including Hermione and Ron and the other Weasleys. Only a very few remained silent, stone faced and angry, and Harry braced himself for the worst. There was really no other way for it to end for some of them.

“We’ll never surrender!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd, and then there were spells flying and more shouting.

Harry ducked out of the way and cast a shield charm, pulling Hermione and Ron along with him. He saw many others doing the same thing, fear stark on their faces. Would this anger Voldemort enough to punish all of them? None of them really knew.

When the dust settled, Voldemort was standing just where he’d been, looking completely unruffled. Around him where half a dozen more bodies, those who had chosen death rather than surrender. Harry tried not to look at their faces. He recognized every single one of them.

“See what resistance will get you?” Voldemort called, turning on the spot to look at everyone who had tried to hide away from the fight. “Death is the only option for those who attempt to stand against me.”

Harry could practically feel the reality of that settle over all of them. It was like a cold wind, chilling your skin and making your breath catch in your throat as you tried to adjust. And there would be much adjustment needed, both individually and as a wizarding community. There was no telling what Voldemort had planned for them, so they would just have to do their best to survive it.

Seemingly satisfied that there would be no more resistance, Voldemort nodded once and swept back toward where his followers still stood. When he turned back toward them, he caught Harry’s eye, making him feel like there was a spotlight on him. Even now, it still seemed like it was just the two of them, some connection Harry couldn’t understand.

“Remember what you just saw and take heed,” Voldemort said, his voice only just oud enough to reach them. “We take over the Ministry in one hour’s time. Tell your loved ones to leave now, because if they fight, they will die.”

And with that, Voldemort and all his followers turned on their heels, disapparating with a resounding crack.

For several long moments there was nothing but shocked silence in the field. Then it was like an explosion, everyone talking and shouting all at once. Harry could feel them crowding in on him, feel their eyes looking to him. It made his stomach turn with nerves, and no small part guilt. He’d known it would hit sooner or later.

“What do we do now?” someone asked, and the question was carried around from person to person, some voices more hysterical or scared than others. Harry kept quiet.

“We’ve gotta keep fighting, right?” someone else called, voice sounding somehow both scared and angry, and an expectant hush spread over them.

Harry knew he didn’t have a choice now but to speak up. They wouldn’t let him keep quiet, and he couldn’t stand to just watch as they roused themselves up into a mob, headed for death. He would do what he could to keep them alive, even if it wasn’t much.

“There’s no point in fighting.”

He could feel it as everyone’s eyes bored into him, confusion and anger filling the air as they tried to figure out what he meant. Was their precious savior telling them to give up and live under Voldemort’s rule? Was he really not going to continue the Order of the Phoenix, set up by his beloved late mentor?

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, voice trembling. He shook his head, and she quieted, looking lost.

“Don’t you see? We’ve lost the war and half of us are dead,” he said, proud of the fact that his voice barely broke on the last word. “There’s nothing else for us to do but just try to survive.”

He looked around them finally, immediately wanting to curl in on himself for the looks he was receiving. Not that they weren’t looks he’d seen a hundred times before, from the very same people. They were as always fickle about their Boy Who Lived. Sometimes they listened, sometimes their worship turned to hatred.

But this, he thought, might be the most important time he’d stood before them and told them what to do. After seeing so many of the older, more experienced fighters cut down so easily, their lives seemed all that much more in danger. Their only chance was to surrender.

And, he was tired of fighting. He’d spent his whole life doing it, even before he knew about the wizarding world and the Dark Lord out for his life. This seemed like the only chance he’d get to stop the constant battles. It was a chance to start over, sort of, and figure out how to live without fighting.

“I’m going to Hogwarts,” he told them after a few minutes of letting them talk amongst themselves. “You’re welcome to come if you want.”

He hadn’t known he was going there until he said it, but as soon as the words passed his lips, he knew it was the right choice. Hogwarts would always welcome them, and protect them. Besides, he really had nowhere else to go. The Dursleys were out and he couldn’t intrude on the Weasleys for long. There was Grimmauld Place, but he couldn’t even think of going back there now.

A few people nodded, mostly ones who Harry knew had nowhere else to go either. There were a lot of orphans left by the war. He heard a few others talk about going home, about going to family out of the country, about just leaving as fast and as far as they could. Hermione and Ron and their other friends and family just nodded their agreement to stick by him.

But a few others shook their heads, their anger still burning hotter than their grief. He could see the moment they decided to keep fighting, determined to see this lost war through to the end. If he knew them better, more personally, he might try to convince them of how hopeless it was.

“You can cower in Hogwarts all you want,” one of them said. Harry couldn’t remember his name, but he’d been a few years above Harry in school. “Anyone who wants to fight back can come with us.”

Harry shrugged. “You can fight and die all you want.”

His words gave a few of them pause, but there were still half a dozen huddled together, determined to continue the fight. After a few brief words, they all disapparated away. To where, Harry had no idea. He’d rather not know, if he was being honest.

Those who had somewhere else to go, or who had family to warn at the Ministry, left one by one until there were only those who were going to Hogwarts left. He smiled sadly at them, glad for their presence even in these circumstances. He wouldn’t have wanted to go alone.

With everyone’s help, they wrapped up the bodies of those killed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It was difficult work even with magic, though most of that was the way it made fresh grief and helplessness well up in them. Harry did his best to put on a good face, because that was what they needed now.

With the battlefield cleared, the only sign of their presence churned mud and burn marks and blood, they gathered together. There was a loud crack as they all apparated away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got behind on posting, sorry! Here is the funeral, though it didn't turn out as detailed (or as sad?) as I'd planned when I was outline. Ah well.
> 
> Also! There is fantastic art for my story!! It's by limonium-anemos and you can see it [here](http://limonium-anemos.tumblr.com/post/178100805263/art-for-the-tomarrybigbang-im-very-happy-to) and [here](http://limonium-anemos.tumblr.com/post/178114947148/shh-its-alright-voldemort-said-quiet-enough) :D

They arrived just outside of Hogsmeade and trekked up to the school. Most of them hadn’t been there in years as it had been officially closed for awhile. Even Dumbledore hadn’t been able to come up with enough teachers eventually, especially when the war dragged on with more and more casualties. Harry’s sixth year had been the last.

He’d missed Hogwarts with an ache he hadn’t realized until he saw her again, standing tall on the horizon. After sixth year, he’d stayed with the Dursleys until he was of age, then moved to Grimmauld Place, since the Order was still based there. It had been difficult living there, surrounded by reminders of Sirius, and then all the others they lost as the war continued. If he’d had anywhere else to go, he would have.

Now, he decided, they’d take Hogwarts back. They might not get it up to a proper school, not with the few people they had, most of whom hadn’t even completed their own schooling, but it was something. They’d do their best.

“Harry?” someone asked when they got up the castle steps. “What do we do with… them?”

Harry turned to consider the train of levitating bodies behind their party. His stomach turned at the fresh reminder of so many deaths, but he swallowed down the urge to be sick. This wasn’t the time for that.

“We’ll put the in the room next to the Great Hall, the one where the first years wait,” he said after a moment of thought. “Tomorrow we can… we can have a funeral.”

The others nodded mutely, some sporting fresh tears on their faces. Hermione, apparently finding her resolution, led the way and soon all of the bodies were carefully tucked away in the room with a heavy duty preservation spell. Harry felt a wave of exhaustion hit him as they closed the door, but he knew there was plenty more that needed to be done.

In groups of two or three, they explored the castle to see how it stood after several years empty. All of the house elves seemed to be gone, probably sent away by Dumbledore, but there was no telling where. Without them, there was no food, no heating, none of the things they were used to having at the school. They’d have to make due somehow.

“Harry, mate, what about Dobby?” Ron asked when Harry voiced his concerns to him and Hermione. “And Kreacher too, I guess, but we’re probably better off without him.”

“Of course,” Harry breathed, smiling for what felt like the first time in days.

It only took moments for Dobby to appear once Harry called for him, and since he’d been working at Hogwarts, he knew where the others were. He got many of them to return, and soon they were fixing up what they could from years of neglect and readying a warm meal for everyone who would be staying there.

While that went on, Harry and several of the others who he was close with headed up to the owlery. Most of the owls were still there, perfectly capable of taking care of themselves even without any humans in the castle. That was a relief, because Hedwig had shown up just after they arrived, but they needed more than just one owl for this.

“Is that everyone?” Harry asked a while later, looking at the pile of parchment spread out between them. He was hoping so, both because his writing hand hurt and because writing the letters was quite an emotional drain.

They’d written dozens of letters, some to tell loved ones about the deaths from the battle, some to friends and family who hadn’t been there to tell them what was happening, some to people at the Ministry who might give them information on what was happening. It was grim work, reliving it all again in every letter.

“I think so,” Hermione said, voice too quiet for her. Ron reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “We don’t even know if any of the ones to the Ministry will make it.”

Harry sighed. That was true. “I guess we’ll see soon.”

They sent off the owls and returned back downstairs. Everyone had gathered in the Great Hall for dinner, not even enough of them to fill half of one of the huge house tables. It made the space feel huge and uncomfortable. Even eating there over the winter holidays, with most of the school empty, hadn’t felt like that.

Harry had just finished eating — not that he was hungry, but he knew he needed to eat after depleting his energy so much during the battle — when the first owl returned. It landed in front of him and he took the roll of parchment from its leg. He’d just started opening it when another owl arrive, then another and another.

Harry sighed. This was going to take awhile.

***

Harry slept badly that night, which was honestly no surprise. He was sure the rest of them had trouble sleeping too, haunted by too fresh memories of the battle. They’d fade with time, but as long as the day before had felt, that was certainly not enough time.

When he finally couldn’t stay in bed any longer, he made his way back to the Great Hall. They’d chosen as a group to sleep in the Hufflepuff dorms, closer to the entrance and more comfortable than any of the others. It felt a little less like being back at school because of that, though hearing Ron and Neville snoring from nearby beds was a strange throwback.

He wasn’t the only one up early he discovered when he got to the Great Hall. Luna was there, writing something on parchment with singular focus, and Hermione was nursing a steaming mug of tea. She smiled tiredly at him when she saw him and he did his best to smile back.

“Morning,” she said softly, to match the hush of the castle.

A mug appeared on the table as soon as he sat down; the house elves were already up as well. He drank it gratefully, then noticed the stack of letters a little further down the table. Apparently they’d gotten more overnight.

The two of them worked on answering what letters they could, sending them off after asking Dobby to bring down a few owls for them. Luna asked for one too, when she finally finished writing. She’d been writing an article to send to her father about what they’d been through.

Harry’s copy of The Daily Prophet was waiting as well, which was both informative and not. Rita Skeeter wrote about the battle and the Ministry takeover, but in such vague terms that it was hard to tell what actually happened. It was probably less informative for most people than Luna’s Quibbler article would be when it was printed.

While they were reading through the letters, the table slowly filled as people woke up or gave up on sleeping. Soon breakfast appeared as well, and Harry dug in with gusto. Somehow, he’d found his appetite again.

Around mid morning, more people came out for the funeral. There was Mr. Lovegood, who Harry had never actually met before, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who had both been injured in an ambush the week before. Many other witches and wizards came, some who Harry knew or knew of, many others who he didn’t.

It was a somber group that made its way down to the lakeshore. Harry led the way, but only after the others insisted. He figured it would be better to have one of the older witches or wizards do it, someone who knew more about what to do. Molly just told him quietly that he was closest to Dumbledore, so it was fitting he lead the funeral.

Someone — Harry thought it might have been one of the older wizards he didn’t _quite_ recognize — had found coffins or transfigured them or something of the sort. The sight of them, the stark reminder of how many people had died, made a lump rise in Harry’s throat and he had to clear it several times before he could speak.

“Thanks for, uh, coming here today,” he said as a hush fell over the gathered crowd. “This isn’t a happy occasion at all, but I’m glad there are still so many of us.”

He looked around, seeing that some of them were already crying, and it made his eyes burn in sympathy. He was sure there would be plenty more tears soon.

“I know there are a lot of things going on right now and no one’s really sure what to do. I’m not,” he continued. He cleared his throat again, feeling unspeakably awkward about being the face of their grief. “But for this moment, all of that doesn’t matter. We can figure it out together later. We’re here now to remember everyone who died in the battle yesterday.”

Harry talked a little while longer, telling them about what coming into the wizarding world had meant to him, how Dumbledore had always been that stable force in his life ever since. He was sure a lot of them felt the same. He talked about McGonagall giving him his first broom and teaching them to waltz for the Yule Ball.

He talked and talked and talked, and when he couldn’t talk anymore, others came up to share their stories. Everyone had at least one story about one of the dead, whether it was funny or sad or touching. After awhile, Harry stopped trying to hold back the tears, and he stood between Ron and Hermione’s comforting forms and let himself mourn.

Finally, the stories were done, and they lowered the coffins down into the earth. That was when the tears really started, even for those who had thus far been able to keep dry eyed. Harry reached down to take Ron and Hermione’s hands in his, and soon everyone was holding hands.

None of their lives were going to be the same now, for a lot of reasons, but he knew that clinging to the idea that they would would only hurt them in the end. This was a goodbye for a lot of things, not just their friends and family. And It felt good to be surrounded by friends who were feeling the same things he was about all of it.


	4. Chapter 4

The next several days were hard, maybe even harder than the day of the funeral. There was a lot to do to pull themselves together after such a loss and such a shakeup of their lives. For a while, it was like everyone walked the castle like ghosts.

Harry did his best to keep up a good face and organize things into something other than just a group of people squatting in a castle. Hermione was a big help there, as she always had been. Together with some of the others, they arranged something like study groups for all the classes they’d taken while at school, plus some others they thought might be helpful.

In between, he tried to keep up with what was going on outside the school, especially with the Ministry. The Daily Prophet continued publishing without a break. Harry was honestly more than a little surprised Rita Skeeter hadn’t been killed immediately, but maybe she’d learned something after her stint as a beetle.

The Quibbler continued as well, though its focus was quite a bit different than the Prophet’s. Where the Prophet was vague and focused on the goings on at the Ministry, the Quibbler covered a wider swath of the wizarding world. Articles were written by witches and wizards all across the country, sent to her father daily according to Luna. It was quite amusing seeing as how most of them had thought the paper trash even five years ago.

It was also interesting to see how things were changing out there, what Voldemort was doing now that he’d finally taken power like he’d wanted so long. Which… wasn’t anything like Harry had assumed it would be like if he was being honest.

There were plenty of deaths reported of course, and probably many more that didn’t get reported. But overall, even accounting for the biased reporting of The Daily Prophet, things seemed to be going rather smoothly. It helped that Voldemort had had people in the Ministry for decades, and he’d had longer than that to decide his vision for the wizarding world.

“Are you still reading that trash?” Hermione asked, interrupting Harry from his reading. She looked run ragged even though it was just after breakfast. “You have a class soon, aren’t there better things to do with your time?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not all bad, you know.”

Hermione hummed, but Harry could tell she didn’t really believe him. Not that he blamed her. There were plenty of reasons to think badly of the new wizarding rule.

“This article,” he said, pointing at the one he’d just been reading, “is about how Voldemort is sponsoring the creation of an orphanage for magical children, especially half-bloods and muggleborns. That’s not a bad thing.”

“I guess so,” Hermione said, though she still sounded unsure. She frowned. “Couldn’t it just some sort of… ploy though?”

Harry snorted. “For what?” he asked bluntly. “He already controls everything, there’s no need to pretend or anything like that. Plus, he grew up in a muggle orphanage. He knows how terrible something like that can be for a magical child.”

Hermione must have heard the edge of buried bitterness there, because a moment later she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He returned it, hands gripped tightly in the back of her robes as he tried to breath through the surge of emotion. He’d been away from the Dursleys for years, and yet it still hurt to think about what he’d been through there.

And all because Dumbledore refused to let him go anywhere else, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked as she pulled away, worry in her warm brown eyes. He nodded. “If you say so. But I suppose you’re right about Voldemort. I’d forgotten about that.”

“Us and Ron are probably the only ones left alive to remember it,” Harry said, a crook to his mouth that wasn’t quite a frown. So much knowledge about so many things gone now. “We’re the only ones left to remember that he’s human and that he had a bad past too.”

Hermione nodded, looking thoughtful. “And what are we supposed to do with that knowledge?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said with a sigh. “I really don’t know.”

***

It came as a surprise to no one, except maybe Harry himself, that he really enjoyed teaching the others living at Hogwarts. They weren’t classes as such, though that’s mostly what they were called, but there were still teachers and they were still learning.

There were only about twenty or so of them living at the castle full time. After the dust settled, many had gotten in touch with family or friends who took them in. Most of the Weasleys had returned to the Burrow, or to their homes outside the country in the cases of Bill and Charlie, until Ron was the only Weasley still living at Hogwarts. Hermione, Luna, and Neville had opted to stay as well, though they frequently owled their families to check in.

Harry was glad to have so many of his friends around, both for their company and their help. More than half of the Hogwarts residents were younger than them, so had gotten very little of a formal education. Trying to fill in the gaps in their knowledge was a difficult job.

He’d ended up taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts of course. No one would have let him not, even if he hadn’t volunteered for it. He might have lost against Voldemort in the end, but he still knew more about the practical applications of defense than any of them. He taught Muggle Studies as well, since he was the one who knew the most about them.

Neville taught Herbology and started growing vegetables for the kitchens after cleaning out the horribly overgrown greenhouses. It had been a dangerous task considering so many potentially deadly plants had been allowed to grow unchecked for years, but after the first dinner with vegetables from Neville’s greenhouse, Harry had to admit that it was definitely worth it.

Luna taught Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and, surprisingly, Potions. Despite her often dreamy and distracted personality, she turned out to be a much better teacher than Snape had ever been. Not that that was really hard.

Hermione, to the surprise of absolutely no one, volunteered to teach the rest of the classes from the former curriculum, plus a few others she’d wanted to add. Harry knew the younger ones would catch up quickly with her teaching them, and she seemed to enjoy the research needed to make sure everyone was learning at the level they needed to be.

Ron taught quidditch, more just for fun than anything else. Sometimes he helped out the others with their classes, but he’d decided that teaching wasn’t really his thing. He was there for moral support, which Harry appreciated. Some days were still overwhelming.

“Did you see the papers this morning?” Amoreta asked near the tail end of one of Harry’s DADA lessons.

Harry suddenly felt very tired. The front page of both The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler were about an attack the day before. Some of the people who had refused to give up after the final battle with Voldemort had formed a resistance of sorts and launched an attack on the new Ministry, the first one during the new reign.

It hadn’t gone well. All of the members of the resistance had been killed, and at least two non-Death Eater Ministry workers as well. Voldemort hadn’t been at the Ministry at the time, which was probably the reason why the attack had been so bloody. If he’d been there, he would have taken them out immediately, but instead the fight had taken longer and caused more damage.

The names of all the dead attackers had been listed in the papers. Two of them were relatives of Hogwarts residents. Harry hadn’t seen either of them all day, but he wasn’t really surprised by that.

“I did,” he replied.

The others were looking at him intently, expectantly, like they wanted his opinion on it or his guidance or something. He grimaced, because this was really not something he wanted to talk about. What was there to say except he was sorry there were more people for them to mourn for?

“I’m sorry about all those pointless deaths,” he said finally. Because that’s what they were, pointless. They should have known there would be no other outcome. “But we can’t dwell on it. We’ve had enough grief. We need to figure out how to move forward without more fighting.”

For a moment, he thought some of them might argue. He could see it in their eyes, the urge to argue that there had to be something they could do. Some way they could continue to fight.

But that was something that Harry had been thinking about a lot ever since they came back to Hogwarts. He’d been fighting his whole life and he was tired, so that was a big reason for not wanting to continue, but it was also _pointless_. Voldemort had won and he was changing things in not entirely bad ways, he’d proven that. They’d just have to live with that.

Harry tried to smile at them and said something that he hoped was more encouraging before ending the class early and sending them off. He wondered what they’d tell the others in the castle, if they’d start whispering about him being a Voldemort sympathiser just because he was tired of the fighting. It wouldn’t be the first time.


End file.
